


Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: Ravyn Imyan Gets Caught

by DirtyScrolls



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Blackmail, Come Marking, Consensual Sex, Corporal Punishment, Dark Brotherhood (Elder Scrolls) - Freeform, Dunmer (Elder Scrolls), Exploitation, Face Slapping, Fantastic Racism, Genital Torture, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Morag Tong, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Violence, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Rape With Object, Rape/Non-con Elements, Riding Crops, Some Sweetness, Tears, Thieves Guild (Elder Scrolls) - Freeform, Well almost, Whipping, no really, specifically non-skin-breaking whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:42:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyScrolls/pseuds/DirtyScrolls
Summary: The Dragonborn gives out harsh punishment.
Relationships: Brynjolf/Ravyn Imyan, Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ravyn Imyan
Comments: 33
Kudos: 33
Collections: Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: The Dragonborn and Ravyn Imyan





	Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: Ravyn Imyan Gets Caught

**Author's Note:**

> So, here’s #5 in my loose Listener/Ravyn Imyan arc. Some knowledge of the questlines and factions involved will help you to understand the story, and you might want to read the earlier Ravyn Imyan stories first. 
> 
> I hope you have fun, and please look at the tags. As always, I welcome suggestions for future stories.

Brynjolf slipped his softening prick out of Ravyn Imyan’s well-lubricated asshole, mindful of the elf’s smaller body and the sensitivity of his just-fucked hole. 

He turned him on his side, kissed his sharp ear, and then kissed his damp, swollen mouth. He draped his arms around him, stroking his sweaty messy hair, breathing his scent and looking into the intriguing new recruit’s shining eyes. The Dunmer returned the embrace, tangling his hands in Brynjolf’s red hair.

Brynjolf reached down to squeeze the other man’s buttocks. Then he used his fingers to clean off the come he felt leaking down Ravyn’s crack, and wiped it on his blanket—he’d have to wash everything later, but that was very far from his mind. 

He petted his Elven lover’s spent prick appreciatively.

“Lad, you really are something, you know that?” he said.

He warmed at the lazy smile the mer gave him, the sly little kiss he placed on his neck. 

This second, more private, session with Ravyn Imyan had just about blown the redheaded thief’s mind. First, he had ridden him, sticking his tongue into his mouth and his gorgeous tapered ears as he took the Dunmer’s long cock into his own greased, grateful hole. Ravyn had almost choked with pleasure—he clearly wasn’t on the giving end often. 

Then he’d fingered Ravyn open using a combination of their come and some oil, and fucked him on his back while the elf moaned for him to do it harder, and wrapped his lithe legs around Brynjolf’s waist. Brynjolf had pinned down his wrists as he gave it to him, letting him strain a little, but taking care not to bruise his smooth grey skin with his larger hands.

“Just tell me if you want me to let go, lad,” he’d said, but Ravyn never did.

Brynjolf would have liked to see him sooner, perhaps with Kordin, but he hadn’t been around much lately. Also, this was the first time since the Guildmaster had bought them together that he’d caught Ravyn Imyan when he’d seemed interested. The man liked to keep to himself a great deal, Brynjolf noticed, and he was hard-working, often out on jobs.

He was glad they had had so much time today. To switch places, to kiss—lots of wet rough kissing, the way he liked it. They had had time to remove armor piece by piece, explore one another’s flesh with savoring lips, eager hands. It all only made Brynjolf want to learn more about the mysterious creature now settled, limp and seemingly satisfied, in his arms.

He kissed Ravyn’s luscious mouth, licked his ear, combed his thick dark hair with his fingers.

“You’re an excellent fuck.”

“You are, too,” the Dunmer said, smiling a crooked smile, “Gods, you have a lot of—energy.”

“Only when I’m with the handsomest mer in Tamriel,” Brynjolf said, before he could regret his gushing. “You know, lad,” he laughed, “I can’t decide if I like your prick or your ass better.”

Ravyn’s sharp cheeks turned somewhat pink. He caressed Brynjolf’s back, down to his buttocks.

“I—I like all of you.” 

“Can I--” Brynjolf was uncharacteristically flustered, despite his earlier brash discussions with Kordin, “The Guildmaster said you liked—Could I tie you up next time? I won’t do anything you don’t want, lad. I just want to be a bit rougher on you, to pretend--” Here Brynjolf shivered with anticipation and not a little embarrassment, “--that I’m some kind of bandit, maybe, and you’re my captive, or something.” 

He stroked the man’s hair again. 

“Yeah.” Ravyn kissed his closed mouth, looked at him with those glimmering eyes. “You could. But, after that, it’ll be my turn. You’ll be mine.”

“Oh,” sighed Brynjolf, kissing him back. “Sounds like a perfect exchange.”

They lay quietly recovering in Brynjolf’s bed, both nude, entwining their arms and legs together against the cool air of the Cistern. Brynjolf had gotten himself a screen—not quite as nice as the Guildmaster’s, but at least it kept lovers from prying eyes.

Except when it didn’t.

Neither man knew that the Guildmaster had returned early from his meeting with Maven Black-Briar. Brynjolf would have enthusiastically invited him to join them, had Kordin shown himself, but Kordin was in no mood to do so.

Neither realized that he had been listening to their coupling for at least half an hour, and had even managed to see glimpses of his prize being ridden and then fucked by his handsome colleague. He had been there, silent and shadowed, close enough to hear the sounds their bodies made against and inside each other, to hear them praise each other to Oblivion and back in obscene language. 

As the two naked thieves rested, Kordin crept away and went to the Flagon to consider what to do.

“You did a little Guild networking while I was gone, didn’t you, Imyan?” 

Ravyn Imyan was busy making himself something at the cookfire, still looking like he’d just been taken apart, even though he was dressed and it had been a good hour since Kordin had seen him with Brynjolf. His hair was loose and unkempt around his face.

He started when he heard Kordin, and looked back at him, his pretty red eyes widening. 

“Don’t try to deny it. I was there for most of the good parts. You shouldn’t try to sneak around on the Guild’s best sneak.”

“I didn’t intend to sneak--”

“You got very friendly with Brynjolf. I did talk to you about that, didn’t I?”

The Listener put a light hand on Imyan’s shoulder. He could feel the elf stiffen, as if ready to fight.

“Meet me in the Ratway in twenty minutes,” he whispered into Imyan’s ear, “Cistern’s too crowded. And clean yourself up first, my pretty slut.”

Kordin pinched the Dunmer’s pointed ear in a derisive greeting, and smiled.

“In case you’re wondering, beautiful, I’m not going to kill you. Not tonight, anyway. Not unless you make trouble, and you know you won’t.”

The Listener took Imyan by his strong shoulder and began leading him to one of the small filthy rooms, further along in the Ratway than they’d gone during their past meetings. Kordin was fairly sure no one would disturb them, anyway. They were already used to the sounds he caused when he was with Sero, after all; he’d taken him in here a time or two recently. So Kordin didn’t care if Imyan made noise--which he was confident he would.

Nothing here but some lanterns Kordin had lit not long ago, a few chairs that looked like they wouldn’t support a skeever, a rickety table, and a bedroll with Gods-knew-what staining it. Kordin shoved Imyan down on the bedroll. He squatted beside him. The room was bright with lantern-flame, catching the Dunmer’s eyes.

“I thought we had gotten things clear,” he said, stroking the ex-assassin’s cheekbone, then his hair, which fell down to just past his strong jaw, its usual slick style obliterated by Brynjolf’s hands. “I seem to remember a pointed discussion on that matter. You should’ve asked my permission first. I might have even let you.”

“Alright,” said Imyan, putting his long-fingered hands up, “What do you need me to do?”

“I’m going to punish you, of course. You have to have expected that, handsome.” Kordin traced Imyan’s chin gently, looking into his eyes. Then he slapped him, so hard it made his hand sting, and Imyan’s hair fell across his face at the impact. “Strip. And don’t try any slutty tricks to get out of it; you’ll only make things worse.”

Expressionless, Imyan efficiently removed his cuirass, and—as the Listener watched, almost drooling—his boots and socks. Kordin took many appreciative glances at his prize’s long feet, but also paid intense attention to how he moved as he undressed. Imyan’s assassin’s grace emerged naturally in so much of what he did. With each piece of armor and cloth that joined the neat pile beside the bedroll, more and more sleek ashen flesh was revealed. Kordin caught himself licking his lips.

He smirked, running his fingers over Imyan’s cheek once more, admiring the grey-skin’s firm, even features. 

“Now lay back on the roll and grab those ankles. Spread good and wide for me. You damn well better have cleaned his come out of you. And that prick better not stink of him either.” 

Imyan tried and failed to stay stoical. A blush appeared high on his face, as he positioned himself the way the Listener had ordered. Kordin’s cock responded happily to the sight of the naked Dunmer exposing his dark crack, his balls, and his soft cock, and to the straining of his fine muscles in the strange and humiliating pose.

Kordin brought out several of his leather straps and bound slim wrists to slim ankles, remembering with great fondness how he had tied up the terrified Windhelm merchant Sadri in the same way. Imyan was more dangerous than Revyn Sadri would ever wish to be, however--and that made it better. Sadri’s innocence had been highly arousing, but there were few things as erotic to Kordin as having this worthy “enemy” at his mercy. He kissed one bound elegant ankle, almost tenderly.

“He fucked you in the ass, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And you fucked him with that pretty cock?”

“Y-yes.”

“The... relevant parts should be punished, don’t you think?”

The elf’s eyes narrowed at this, confused, extremely wary. 

“What are you—What d’you mean?”

Kordin unhooked something from his belt that Ravyn Imyan obviously did not immediately recognize. It was long, thin, stiff, and wicked-looking, made of dark leather. He’d been wanting to try it on Imyan, and he couldn’t think of a better time than now.

“Know what this is, my love? It’s a riding crop. Usually for horses. To direct them. But I assure you it works on disobedient elves too. Looks nasty, doesn’t it?”

The Nord smiled, devouring Imyan with his eyes. The Dunmer was a sumptuous feast indeed, long legs forced open, genitals and ass wantonly displayed. There was already red around his ankles and wrists from the tight leather bonds. His chiseled face was serious, his mouth a pressed line, as if the tough mer were steeling himself.

Without a word, Kordin drew back and whipped Imyan firmly across his flaccid prick, making his entire face and bound body wince. 

Imyan gasped loudly. The sweet grey cock reddened where the end of the crop had landed. 

The Nord slapped the leather tip again against the defenseless grey tube of flesh. Imyan cried out, his shining scarlet eyes growing moist with pain. 

Kordin paused a moment to watch him, then hit him again, in the same supremely vulnerable place. Imyan’s face flushed, and this time he yelled. 

Then Kordin grinned to himself and smacked the leather into his prey’s succulent sack, drawing another sound of pain, throaty and miserable. If Imyan could have moved more freely, his whole body would have cringed. His face was deep red under the pretty grey, and his eyes were unabashedly wet.

“Stop your crying. I know men who eat this up,” the Nord said, though he had exactly the opposite desire and would have loved to see Imyan sobbing. He was thinking of Sero. The very idea of the pain-hungry mercenary spurred Kordin on, as always.

He struck Imyan on his sack again, then on his red-marked prick. He picked up a quick rhythm alternating between the two sensitive areas. The snap of leather against flesh was delicious. And Imyan had big tears rising in his eyes, while writhing as best he could in his bonds.

“Please, Guildmaster...” he said, his voice hoarse.

Kordin didn’t respond, other than to work his own hard prick out from the front of his armor so he could stimulate himself while watching Imyan struggle to take the pain he’d earned. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the proud ex-Morag Tong agent actually plead with him before, and it was sweet.

The stinging, rhythmic swats continued, never hard enough to break skin, but always hard enough to bring up crimson under the beautiful ashen color, to provoke howls and helpless movements, as if Imyan were trying to shrink into himself.

Stopping to stroke the mer’s upper body with the crop, the Nord gave one of his nipples a hard tap, which resulted in the desired moan. Kordin massaged himself slowly and gazed down at the ex-assassin’s sculpted-stone flesh, streaked and mottled with red. 

“You have no idea how good you look taking this. So, the ginger rode you, did he?”

“He--ohh!” A smack on his other nipple. “By Azura! Yes, he did!” 

“And, then did be come on you?” asked Korden, moving the crop down to caress the Dunmer’s abused balls. 

He swatted him abruptly.

“Yes-- oh!”

“Where, Imyan?” he asked, though he already knew. Another caressing touch of the crop-head, delicately tickling.

“My chest, my face. My hair. Ahh! Gods!!” 

Imyan cried out as Kordin thrust his fingers into his hair and yanked. 

The Nord let him go and slapped him resoundingly across the face, in a way he knew would bruise. 

He then aimed a blow of the crop across Imyan’s muscular right pectoral, catching the nipple again, leaving a bright pink stripe. Imyan screamed, his voice harsh.

“One for each. Did he come inside you, love? Now, I know he did, but I want you to say it.”

Imyan gasped, nodded. “Yeah—yes.”

“Well, then, make sure that crack is nice and open. Make sure I can see your hole.”

Imyan swallowed as if trying to stop himself from speaking. He did as Kordin had told him, leaning back and spreading as much as he could. The mer was rather flexible.

“Slut. I’ll have to fuck you like this sometime.”

Kordin ran a finger over the soft pucker, feeling no crust of semen, even when he poked inside.

“You’re clean. Good thing for you.”

Now the Nord concentrated the crop on the inner parts of each round buttock. Imyan let out a guttural gasp or scream whenever the implement struck him. His ruby eyes glittered with tears.

“How did you like his cock this time around, beautiful? Did he make you come?”

He accompanied this question with a blow from the crop.

“Yes!”

“I thought that was what I heard.”

The Listener now gave his attention specifically to the Dunmer’s small, recently-stretched pucker, first tapping it lightly with the crop-end. He wanted to tease Imyan, to have him dreading the next smack. 

When the hard blow came, Imyan yowled. Kordin began to sharply, quickly slap at the well-used ring, turning the delicate skin purple-red. Imyan screamed less now, but his breathing was harder, almost panicked, fiery eyes resplendent with tears. 

He closed his eyes in relief when Kordin stopped. This made the Nord smile, because he knew what the elf would get next.

He reached for his belt and unhooked his new Daedric dagger, the one he’d had made to replace what Rendar and his friend had stolen on the terrible and wonderful night when they took him. 

He tapped Imyan’s cheek. Imyan opened his eyes again, and a look of alarm crossed his face.

The Listener pulled the shock-enchanted dagger out from its gem-encrusted sheath a little to show Imyan how it shone in the warm lantern light.

“Don’t worry. I meant it when I said I’m not killing you tonight. Not unless you give me a reason, of course. And you’re in no position to do that, are you, handsome?”

Kordin laughed and set aside the dagger. 

He began to oil the elf’s stretched purple-red orifice, working quickly, eventually sliding three fingers against each other. Imyan watched him, trying to hide his fear and discomfort.

The Nord took out his fingers with a damp sound and picked up his dagger.

“Don’t worry, love, I’m not using the sharp end,” Kordin assured his prey, chuckling.

Then he lined up the hilt with the abused asshole, making Imyan’s mouth and eyes widen. Kordin smiled almost kindly and penetrated the other man with the finely-carved and jeweled hilt, getting it in a few inches before the tight, blushing flesh resisted. Imyan screamed again, echoing in the close space.

“How’s that compare to his cock?” the Nord asked. He shoved the hilt in a bit more and slapped Imyan’s stretched thigh. “Huh?”

“It--it hurts.”

“Stiff enough for you?” Kordin asked, his mouth close to Imyan’s ear. He tongued the tip. Then he slid the hilt in further, at the same time using one hand to palm his own neglected prick. He gave the hilt a mild shove, but it seemed the sensation was sharp inside the Dunmer, who winced and tried to close his eyes, earning another face-slap. His head rocked to the side.

“You’ll ask me next time,” Kordin said, moving the hilt in a little deeper, to low noises of pain. He twisted it. Imyan gave a cry. “Not so much as a kiss. You won’t let him touch you or use you in any way unless I say you can. And you don’t touch him either.”

“Alright!”

“How about ’Yes, sera’? You said it for him.”

“Yes, sera—please stop!”

“Oh, you can take it.” Kordin worked the hilt in and twisted it at the same time. Imyan looked flushed, teary and large-eyed, abject. “Hold that inside you, pretty thing. I’m going to come on you.” Kordin sneered. “You should be honored. It’s my newest dagger, and one of my finest. Only the best for you.”

Imyan looked to be holding back an expression of agony. His teeth were gritted and he had almost shut his tear-blurry eyes.

“Open those gorgeous fucking eyes and look at me,” Kordin said, swatting his cheek. Imyan flinched and obeyed.

The dagger stuck out of his spread, reddened asshole, somehow both ludicrous and arousing. Kordin jerked himself off with rapid movements, running his gaze up and down the trussed grey body, trying vainly to memorize it as he masturbated. 

Then he came, aiming his thick white seed at Imyan’s chest and head, the places the elf had said Brynjolf had covered. Soon there was pearly come all over his upper torso, with streaks in his face and hair.

“Let’s take this out of your filthy hole,” he said, smirking, sliding the hilt from Imyan’s body in one motion, making the mer scream through clenched teeth. “It’s a valuable piece, after all.”

He used Imyan’s own loincloth to wipe his dagger-hilt, then he cut his bonds. Imyan fell splayed on his back on the bedroll, breathing hard.

“Get dressed, beautiful,” Kordin told him, tossing the cloth at him. He leaned in to lightly lick his prize’s teary eyes and kiss his mouth. “You did well. But, pleasant as that was for me, you might be better off remembering what happens when you whore yourself around.”


End file.
